


Showers and Other Works of Art

by genteelrebel



Series: Adam and Joe [4]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genteelrebel/pseuds/genteelrebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a bathroom is more than just a bathroom. And little things mean more than anyone can guess.  This is a short filler story for "Adam and Joe", set in Paris after Joe has discovered that Adam Pierson is Immortal (but before he knows Adam is Methos.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showers and Other Works of Art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drmoni](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=drmoni).



Joe Dawson was beginning to think he’d become obsessed with his young lover’s nose.

It was shallow of him, he knew. In the limitless acreage of perfection that was Adam Pierson’s body, it was foolish to concentrate on just one feature. Nevertheless, here he was doing it. Again.

It wasn’t entirely his fault. That nose was just so gosh darn distinctive. It was one thing about Adam that no other man had, at least not in combination with the sculptured cheekbones and those knowing, teasing eyes. It put such an emphatic punctuation mark on the masculine poetry of Adam’s face that Joe often lost minutes and sometimes hours in simply staring at it. Right now, for instance, lying in bed next to the sleeping researcher, that nose was commanding all of Joe’s attention. It was poking up over the edge of the blanket in much the same way that the Eiffel tower poked up from the skyline of Paris, and Joe had a completely insane and unreasonable urge just to reach out and start fondling it. Caress all the curves and planes just as thoroughly as he did the rest of the kid’s beautiful body… 

But Joe reluctantly squashed the idea. It would be rude, waking Adam out of such a sound asleep just to indulge in a single mad moment of early-morning nasophilia. Besides. There weren’t too many moments in their busy lives when Adam looked so peaceful, his breathing soft and all his harsher edges gentled. Joe loved to look at him thus, and often woke early just so he could. He smiled softly as he rolled to his side and propped his head on his elbow to get a better look, careful not to rock the mattress and wake his sleeping lover. It wouldn’t do for the kid to know just how obsessed he really was…

“You’re doing it again,” Adam said in a sing-song voice, eyes still closed.

Then again, perhaps he already knew. “Doing what?” Joe said innocently. 

Adam opened his eyes. He looked amused. “Staring at me.”

“Who, me? Staring at you?” Adam nodded, his amusement growing by the moment. Joe wondered briefly if he should be embarrassed by being caught, then let it go. Who had time to be embarrassed when the most beautiful man in the world was staring back at you from the next pillow? He shrugged happily. “It’s just art appreciation, kid. You’re the one who keeps telling me you have to spend a lot of hours looking at a sculpture in order to truly appreciate it. That’s all I’m doing.”

“Mmmm.” The syllable was non-committal, but to Joe the tone sounded happy, an impression that was shortly confirmed by the way Adam suddenly rolled over and draped his body over Joe’s. They kissed for several moments, in that passionate-but-clumsy way of early morning lovers everywhere who are determined to make the most of things despite each other’s morning breath. When they had finished Adam settled back down onto his side of the mattress with a contented sigh. "Do you know what day this is?" he asked.

"It’s Saturday." Joe smiled. "I love Saturdays. No work for you, no mind-numbing Watcher committee meetings for me, no prying eyes for either of us. Just you and me, being..."

"Being me and you," Adam finished for him. “Yes, I know. I love Saturdays, too. But my question is this: do you know *which* Saturday this is?"

Panic fluttered in Joe's heart. Oh, Christ. It wasn't the kid's birthday, was it? He'd looked up the date in Adam's Watcher records once, back when they were still working side by side on Juniper Street. Unfortunately, he'd made himself forget it shortly thereafter, just as he'd tried to forget everything else about the young man he’d thought he could never have. God, how could he have been so thoughtless? Why hadn’t he bothered to look it up again? There was still so much damn much about the kid he didn't know. "Uh..."

"How quickly they forget," Adam said mock mournfully. He sat up against the headboard, his half of the blankets sliding down to drape his hips. Oh. Fuck. That chest and those arms ought to be illegal. How the hell did Adam manage to keep in such glorious, muscular shape with just a short daily run and a weekly fencing date with Librarian Lindsey? "It's Saturday the 24th, Joe. The sixth Saturday since you moved in."

"Yeah?" Joe still wasn't following. "Should that mean something to me, kid?"

"Maybe not to you. But it does to me." Adam raised his hands, holding up six fingers. "Six weeks, Joe. It's been six weeks since you first moved in. Long enough for the bloom to begin to rub off, for the social mask of politeness to start to crack away. If one of us was going to run away screaming away from the other in the middle of the night, we would have done it by now. But we haven’t."

Joe chuckled low in his throat. “You honestly thought we would?”

“Honestly? I thought we’d have more of an adjustment than we have,” Adam answered, speaking with that uniquely Adam Pierson brand of frankness that still took Joe a little by surprise. “It’s been a long time since either of us has had a roommate, Joe. And human beings tend to be very territorial, as a rule. Even when two people really want to live together, there are still boundaries that need to be established, psychic and physical places where the other person just doesn’t go. And there’s usually some conflict before people learn where those places are. But we…” Adam raised his lovely hands in the air and clasped them together, fingers interlocking. “We just…meshed. No fuss, no muss. We haven’t even had the obligatory first argument about who left the top off the toothpaste tube or who dropped his dirty towels in the middle of the bathroom floor. It’s all been…easy.”

Joe hid a smile. It always amused him when Adam slipped into his worldly-wise lecturer mode, as if as at the vast age of thirty-four he was an expert on human nature and love. “Well, I learned to pick up after myself back in the VA hospital, the first time I left a towel on the floor that tripped another amputee. And as far as toothpaste goes, you know I can’t stand that cinnamon flavored stuff you insist on using…”

“You don’t seem to mind it when you’re kissing me.”

Joe chuckled. “I never said it didn’t taste good in your mouth, kid. It just makes you extra spicy, which is a very good thing. But me…” He shuddered theatrically. “To me the stuff tastes like Red Hots, and I just can’t get used to the idea of cleaning my teeth with something that tastes like candy. So it’s easier to buy my own tube.”

“There. You see?” Adam gestured feelingly at the ceiling. “That right there is an example of what I mean. I’ve known couples for whom a dispute over toothpaste flavors could turn into a romantic cold war, with one party condemned to sleep on the couch until Doomsday. Instead, you just bought your own tube. You didn’t even feel the need to needle me about it first, badgering me into feeling guilty about forcing you to go to such an extravagant extra expense. You just did it.” He lowered his hands back to his sides. “Six weeks, Joe. We’ve lived together for six weeks without even once having a screaming match or experiencing the urge to slip poison into each other’s tea. I think that’s quite something.”

“Yeah,” Joe said thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess it is.” Now that Adam had brought it up, Joe realized it *was* pretty extraordinary that they’d gone that long without a single fight. Adam was right. They meshed. It felt like they’d been living together for a lifetime instead of just a few short weeks. Joe smiled. “You want to do some celebrating, kid?”

“More some checking in.” Adam twisted around so that he was facing Joe, his expression unusually serious. “I’m happy, Joe. Happier than I’ve been in…well, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how long. Are you?”

Joe’s face softened. “You know that I am.”

“Not planning to give up on me and move back into long-term Watcher housing anytime soon?”

“No.” Joe shook his head, feeling a warm, heartfelt tenderness suffuse his chest and the barest hint of tears prickling at his eye. God, but he was so damn *lucky*. “No. I think we can definitely tell the Council that I’ve made alternative arrangements. I’m here for as long as you can stand me, kid.”

Adam gave a business like nod. “Right,” he said. “Then it’s time to make some plans.” And he launched himself out of bed, grabbed a robe, wrapped it around his body, and strode purposefully out of the room.

Joe stared after him, then reached for his legs and followed.

***

“Plans” turned out to be literal. By the time Joe caught up with Adam the kid was already in his office, a sheaf of blueprints spread out over his large glass desk. Joe had seen him carry in the long, distinctively shaped blueprint tube the day before yesterday, but he hadn’t given it much thought. Adam tended to bring home all kinds of odd things for his work on the Methos Chronicles. Joe had just assumed the prints were the plans of a building Methos had once lived in, or possibly a plot of a monastery the legendary Immortal had helped design, or something else along those lines. But now that the blueprints were unrolled, the ends somewhat precariously prevented from re-rolling by an antique brass kaleidoscope on one edge and a chipped plaster bust of Lord Byron on the other, Joe could see that the plans were for something much more modern. In fact, they were for the very apartment he was standing in. With some serious modifications. “Adam?”

“Joe! I’m glad you’re here,” Adam said, as if they hadn’t just been in bed together less than ten minutes before, involved in intimate conversation. “I was just going over the plans for the flat’s remodel, and I was wondering about the kitchen counters. Obviously we’ll each need to have our own workspace so we won’t crowd each other while we’re both cooking, but do you think we’ll need two sinks? According to the architectural magazines a lot of couples are doing that when they’re more than few inches different in height, and it’s true I hate having to lean over to turn on the taps, but…”

“Architectural magazines? Kitchen?”

Adam nodded. “I’ve been doing some research,” he said. “I took some drafting classes once upon a time, so I knew I could draw up most of the plans for the rest of the flat myself, but I’m hopelessly out of date when it comes to modern kitchen fashions. Apparently separate islands for dish cleaning and veggie prep are the way to go, now. And you wouldn’t believe the things they’re doing with point-of-use water heaters…” He trailed off, frowning as he took in Joe’s expression. “Joe? What’s wrong?”

“I—this—uh—“ Joe was staring down at the blueprints now, and what he was seeing was making his mind spin. “Remodel” really wasn’t an adequate word. The changes Adam had outlined on the plans might as well have made the flat into a whole new building. Floors had been raised. Several walls had been knocked down and rebuilt in other places. There was even an entirely new addition annotated “music room” in tiny white lettering. Joe gaped, and after a few moments managed to restart his heart. “Adam,” he said dazedly. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re planning to remodel your flat?”

“What? Oh. Oh, I see I missed a step. Yes, Joe. I want to remodel the flat.” Adam’s frown quickly converted back into a smile, the same ridiculously happy, open grin Joe had fallen in love with back on Juniper Street. He came out from behind the desk and leaned against it, nodding at the walls and floors. “This place is a bachelor’s pad, Joe. When I first moved in, I honestly thought the only person who would ever live here was me. All I really cared about was having a good reading light in the office and enough space to display my sculp—er, I mean my Uncle Ben’s art collection. But now all that’s changed.” A tender look came into Adam’s eyes. “I want you to be comfortable here, Joe. Comfortable enough to stay for a long, long time. And you aren’t--there isn’t even enough counter space in the bathroom for you to really unpack your shaving kit. We both know that you’ve been living here like it’s a hotel room or something else short term. I want to change all that.”

Joe shook his head, still staring at the plans. “By putting in two kitchen sinks?”

“Yes.”

“And building me a music room?”

“Yes. Completely sound proofed and with its own street access. I figured you’d want to be able to invite your musician friends over sometimes without having to go through me.” Adam’s grin widened. “And just you wait until you see what I have in mind for the master bath, Joe. It would make Kubla Khan swoon with jealousy. I’ll just give you two little words for a preview. Steam Room.”

Joe frowned, more shaken then he wanted to admit. It sounded wonderful, and the work and thoughtfulness Adam had so obviously put into the blueprints touched Joe greatly. But there was no way he could allow the kid to go on thinking this was actually going to happen. “Adam, I can’t let you do this,” he said heavily. 

And their first fight since he’d moved in officially began.

As fights went, it wasn’t too bad. It hurt Joe to see Adam’s body language change, to watch the kid’s relaxed, open pose abruptly change into a tight-shouldered stance of disappointment and hurt, but Joe didn’t have much choice. He tried to couch it in as easy terms as he could. He said repeatedly that he loved the fact that Adam cared enough about him to even think about doing something like this. And that he was undeniably impressed by Adam’s thoughtfulness, as well as Adam’s completely heretofore unsuspected gift for interior design. But he couldn’t let the kid go to that kind of trouble on his account. Let alone that kind of expense. 

Adam listened calmly, his arms closed over his chest. “So let me get this straight,” he said when Joe had finished. “You don’t really mind the idea of remodel itself, or the kinds of changes I want to make. Your main objection is the expense.”

“Yes.” Joe nodded vigorously, relieved that he’d managed to get his point across so fast. “I don’t think you have any idea what doing this kind of work really costs, kid. Why, back in the States the kitchen alone would take twenty or thirty thousand dollars to complete. I have no idea what the whole project would come to here.”

“Joe, I can afford it.”

Joe raised his eyebrow skeptically. “Oh yeah? How? Did you win the lottery without telling me? Or did your Uncle Ben leave you a couple of million besides the apartment building and the art collection?” 

Adam looked away uncomfortably. Joe stared at him for a moment, and then his eyebrows went so high they almost hit his hairline. Oh. *Oh*. Well, he supposed that could explain a few things, including Adam’s quiet but still surprisingly luxurious lifestyle. Oh, his clothes were all conservative and he drove a car that should have been junked years before, but behind closed doors Adam’s tastes definitely bordered on the decadent. The sheets on the bed were always 600 count, the kitchen always contained at least one case of very fine Cabernet and a couple of crates of even finer imported beer, and whenever they went out Adam had a subtle way of silently picking up the check before Joe had even quite realized it had arrived. Joe had been meaning to talk to him about that, make sure he knew that Joe intended to pay his full share. Now, though, thinking about the way Adam never seemed to be short of cash now matter how much he spent on CDs and concert tickets and books, Joe began to wonder just how wealthy his new lover really was. He thought about it for thirty seconds…

The he let it go. It wasn’t the sort of question Joe felt like he had a right to ask, and anyway, it didn’t matter. The present situation remained unchanged. “It doesn’t matter,” Joe said aloud, trying to focus back at the matter on hand. “However much money you have salted away, you need to save it for your future, kid. I won’t let you spend it on me.”

Adam stiffened. Joe was astonished to see how dark his eyes had gotten, how much sadness was shining in the depths. “It’s not like I have to plan for my retirement, Joe,” he said quietly.

The pain in that simple statement floored Joe utterly. It had never occurred to him until that moment that Adam might feel robbed—that what Joe saw as a miracle, Adam might see as something to grieve for, the total loss of the life he should have had. “No,” Joe said after a moment’s thought. “No, I guess you don’t. You don’t have to worry about being injured or suffering an extended illness, either. Even if worst comes to worst and you’re out of a job for a year, you can’t even starve to death anymore, can you. At least not permanently.” Adam nodded stiffly, his expression haunted. Joe laboriously lowered himself into Adam’s desk chair. “It doesn’t matter,” he said again, but much more kindly this time. “Maybe you no longer have to make regular contributions to an IRA, but you need to put money away into some kind of emergency fund just the same. All it would take is getting hit by a car in a public place and you’d have to start a new life, kid. Hell. All it would take is a *paper cut* healing in front of the wrong people at work and you’d have to run. No. I won’t let you spend that kind of cash on me. Especially not…” He hesitated, then decided that yes, it really did need to be said, even if it was a painful subject for them both. “Especially not when I could be going back to Seacouver in just a few weeks.”

He regretted saying it almost instantly. The subject of Joe’s having to leave to start Joe’s Bar in Seacouver had been the elephant in the room for weeks now—or rather, the question of whether or not Adam would go with him when he did was. Joe had asked him to, the night he’d first found out about the Council’s decision. Adam hadn’t said yes, had just said he’d need to think about it, and Joe now thought he understood why. Moving in with the kid had shown him just how much Adam would lose if he left Paris, both personally and professionally. There was no way Joe could ask Adam to make a sacrifice like that, no way at all. Still. The hope that Adam would volunteer to make it *without* Joe asking him, treacherous and selfish as that hope undeniably was, lingered on in Joe’s heart…hence the unspoken tension in the air, and the presence of the large and flourishing circus creature. For his part, Adam looked as if he’d just been slapped. “The Council hasn’t even decided what part of town they want Joe’s Bar to be in, Joe,” he said slowly, as if trying hard to come to terms with it. “It could be the better part of a year before they find a place they can agree on. Let alone make an offer.”

“Most likely,” Joe agreed. “But we don’t know for sure, Adam. They might make a decision tomorrow morning and put me on a plane the same afternoon. There’s just no way to tell.” Adam nodded bleakly. Joe reached out and gently touched his arm. "I'm not going to have you spend a whole bunch of money completely remodeling your home when there's a good chance I won't even be around to appreciate it,” he said softly. “I'm sorry, kid. They’re a beautiful set of plans. But both of us have to be realistic about how much time we might have to spend together.”

Adam smiled tightly. "Joe," he said, and Joe heard a hint of bleak despair in his voice, “Don’t you understand? I *want* to do this. I want to rearrange and repaint and remodel for you. I want you to be comfortable here, to fit. To know you have a place. No matter how short a time it might be for. Even a few hours would be worth it."

"Ah, kid. I know that already. You don't have to move any walls to prove it." Joe stood up, walked to where his beloved was still sitting on his desk, and stepped in close. "The only way I'd ever feel unwelcome here is if you suddenly decided to trade in your big bed for a twin. *That* would be a hint too big to ignore." 

He wrapped his arms around Adam’s body and felt the kid relax a little, although his neck and shoulders remained tense. "Can't," Adam said a little shakily. "Modern twin beds never fit me. My feet always hang off the end." 

“I guess I’m safe then. Lucky me.” Joe smiled and kissed him soundly, feeling the remaining tension flow out of the Adam’s muscles as he melted into the kiss. His legs came up to wrap around Joe’s hips, careful not to knock Joe off his balance but insistently pulling him tighter into both the desk and Adam’s body, and that was fine with Joe, finer than anything he could have hoped for. He didn’t feel like the issue had completely been resolved—but then, they almost never were, were they? Good relationships were sometimes dependent on both parties just knowing when to stop arguing and move on. Their first fight had gone better than Joe could have hoped for. It was enough.

Now it was time to introduce the kid to the fine art of make-up sex.

***

It was amazing, how little time it had taken Joe to get used to sleeping with a partner again. His body was now so accustomed to having Adam’s sleeping presence at his side that any interruption in that presence woke him up...and if that interruption lasted longer than a simple trip to the bathroom could explain, Joe stayed awake, completely unable to return to dreamland until he’d checked on the kid and knew he was okay. Which is what happened, the morning after their first fight. Somewhere around three a.m. Joe woke up to an empty bed and the faint feeling that all was not well. He got up, quickly put on his legs and his robe, and followed the faint sounds of Springsteen to Adam’s office—where he found Adam once again leaning over his desk, staring down at the now disfavored blueprints. Adam had only turned on one light, the bright magnifying lamp that was clipped to the edge of his desk, and the expression the lamp illuminated was one of the deepest, most abject pain. Joe, shocked, slowed his footsteps and hung back within the shadows. He wasn’t sure if he should intrude—

But if Joe had gotten accustomed enough to Adam to wake up whenever his lover was missing from their bed, Adam had become aware enough of Joe to know whenever he entered the room, even if Joe made next to no sound. “I hate bathrooms,” he said conversationally as Joe entered. He didn’t even bother to turn his head. 

Joe frowned. “You do?”

“I do.” Adam nodded emphatically, still staring at the prints. “They have to be the most horrible rooms ever invented. I thought when I started this project that it was just mine that I hated--god knows it’s given me enough reason. That avocado floor tile gets positively homicidally slippery when wet, and I’ve whacked my forehead on the shower curtain rod more times than I can count. But I’ve come to the conclusion that it really is all bathrooms that I hate. Every last damn one on the planet.” Adam’s shoulders, bare under his loosely fitting robe, sagged as if he was carrying the weight of the world upon them. “Fucking terrible places, bathrooms.”

Ooo-kay. The words made no sense. For the life of him, Joe could think of no reason for Adam to be up in the middle of the night, launching a tirade against the wonders of indoor plumbing. But his despair needed no translation. Joe carefully made his way to the kid’s side, putting the hand not needed for his cane on Adam’s robe-covered shoulder. “I don’t know. I sort of prefer them to outhouses,” he joked, and when this didn’t so much as provoke a smile Joe pulled back, bracing his hips against the kid’s desk himself so he could lean back and see Adam’s face. “Adam. Are you okay?”

“No.” 

Well, that was straight forward enough. Joe had dated several women he’d wished had been so forthright about their feelings. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, figuring that he should start at square one. “Do something that bugged you, say something stupid I didn’t catch? Or…” Joe paled. “Was the sex tonight okay? I know I got kind of carried away…” 

Make that *very* carried away. The make-up sex they’d had in the office immediately after their fight had been tender and sweet, filled with a gentle humor as Joe tried to cheer his young lover up. After a certain amount of comical experimentation, they’d discovered that adjusting Adam’s desk chair to its lowest setting put Joe at exactly the right height to give Adam the blow job of his life, something Joe had done with great relish. Joe knew that the slightly shell-shocked, wondering expression on the kid’s face as he did would highlight his memories until he died. 

But last night had been a different matter. They’d spent the rest of their Saturday together seeing the sights of Paris, doing a tour of Adam’s favorite Parisian museums and open-air markets, and for Joe it had been ten hours of non-stop foreplay. They’d been so in tune with each other that it was like they’d spent the entire day making love in plain sight, constantly exchanging subtle glances and hidden touches that were no less powerful for being invisible to everyone else. By the time they’d gotten home and started having sex in earnest, Joe had been so on edge that he might very well have treated the kid with more roughness than he’d intended. Joe felt a cold shrivel of shame at the thought. Yes, Adam was Immortal, but that didn’t matter. There was no excuse for leaving bruises on his younger lover’s skin. Even if he would be perfectly healed the next day. 

But Adam was finally looking up at him, his eyes wide, and when he spoke he seemed shocked that Joe would even bring the matter up. “God, no,” he said. “The sex was perfect, Joe. The whole bloody *day* was perfect, as a matter of fact. Nobody’s ever…that’s why I…” He broke off, looking down at the blueprints once more. Then he straightened up, squaring his shoulders resolutely. “I need to tell you something. Something I’ve been putting off for more than a week.”

“You can tell me anything,” Joe said gently. “What is it, kid?”

“Don Salzer came to my office last Tuesday. Jacque Vemas was with him.”

“Jacque was there?” Joe frowned, feeling a sudden chill of panic grip his heart. Don visiting Adam at work was no surprise. Everyone in Paris knew that the old researcher loved Adam dearly, and often used his liminal supervision of the Methos Project as an excuse to drop by Adam’s office and chat. But Joe could think of no reason for Jacque, the current Head of all the Watcher Operations in Europe, to accompany him…not unless Adam was in trouble. Serious, serious trouble. Joe reached out to grip the edge of Adam’s desk, suddenly in desperate need of support. “What did he want?”

“Relax, Joe,” Adam said, although the toneless, unhappy voice he used was hardly reassuring. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m not about to face a Tribunal. Nobody’s discovered…well, anything we’d rather they didn’t discover. It was good news, or at least Vemas seemed to think it was. He spent the entire visit beaming like the Watcher version of Father Christmas.” Adam straightened up and started pacing awkwardly around the room. “I’m going to be promoted.”

“Promoted?”

“Yes.” Adam nodded. “It seems that The Powers That Be want to form a Special Research Projects task force, with me at the head. The Methos Project has gone so well that they want my team to start looking into some of the other great legendary Immortals, too. The idea is to re-open their Chronicles, try to prove whether or not they ever existed. We’ll probably take a stab at straightening out some of the other better-known older Immortal’s histories too, you know, people like Constantine and Ramirez. God knows it’s about time *someone* did. Constantine is reported to have been in both Japan and South America during the same week in 1873…” Adam shook his head, then stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Vemas said that becoming the new Head of Special Projects would mean a three-fold increase in my budget. And a two-fold increase in my staff.” 

“But that’s great news,” Joe said, puzzled by Adam’s lack of enthusiasm. “Isn’t it?” Adam just shrugged, looking bleaker still. “Okay, no, I can see that it isn’t,” Joe answered himself. “But I don’t understand *why*, kid. You’ve wanted more staff for years. And the chance to officially research Constantine—well, to you that’s got to be like handing a seven-year-old the keys to the proverbial candy store. Why aren’t you turning handsprings?”

“Because,” Adam answered. “You have no idea just how big a job this new post really is, Joe. It’ll take at least a year, maybe two, to get things running smoothly. And after that—well. Getting this kind of assignment at my tender age is pretty much the same as being a handed a neon sign telling people that I’m going to replace Don when he retires. Everyone’s suspected it for years, of course. But now it will be official. One day, the entire European Research department will be mine.” Adam looked Joe straight in the eye. “And that means that I’m not going to be leaving Paris for a long, long time.”

Oh. 

Suddenly the invisible elephant in the room was visible once more, munching hay and spraying water around in all its giant, wrinkly-skinned glory. It was Joe’s turn to look uncomfortably away, staring down at the carpet in an attempt to avoid his lover’s gaze. A long silent time passed, the ticking of Uncle Ben’s 17th century grandfather clock the only sound that could be heard. At long last, Joe spoke. “I only asked you to go with me once, kid.”

“I know.”

“And that was before I moved in. Before I saw just how big a place you’d made for yourself here in Paris. Before I realized just how much moving to Seacouver would make you lose.” Joe’s shoulders hunched up protectively. “I haven’t asked you since.”

“I know that, too.” Adam nodded. “But the fact that you didn’t ask doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about it. Does it?” Joe shrugged again. Adam sighed. “I know you’ve been talking to people about me under the table, Joe. Trying to find out what it would take to get me transferred to the States.”

Joe blinked. “How the hell do you know about that?” 

“Because I’ve spent the last six weeks having similar conversations. Under some of the very same tables.” 

“Oh, Adam.” For a second Joe let the significance of that warm him. So Adam really *had* been considering going with him, seriously enough to start rattling the Watcher grapevine in search of a job. Then Joe focused back on the facts, and the sadness returned. “Yeah, well, that’s another reason I stopped asking,” he said tiredly. “If you’ve been talking to the same people, then you got the same answers I did, kid. The new head of American Research is an ass. So far I’ve been lucky enough to avoid getting on his bad side, but he and Don had a falling out years ago; there’s no way he’s going to take one of Don’s protégés under his roof. Especially not one like you, with the ambition and the potential to replace him in five years. Oh, if I made enough of a fuss and pulled enough strings, I could probably get you a job working at the Seacouver Archive…but they wouldn’t even let you have the word “Researcher” in your job title. You’d have to be an “Assistant Administrator” instead, and you know what that means. They’d have you making the coffee and photocopying the Chronicles for the rest of your career.” Joe shook his head. “I never would have asked you to give up the Methos Project to become an office boy, Adam. I know how much you love Research.”

“*Fuck* Research,” Adam hissed. “Don’t you get it, Joe? If I was really going to move to Seacouver, I’d want to work under *you*. Be your sidekick while we got the bar up and running, just like we did on Juniper Street. I don’t think you quite understand just how happy I was then. I thought…I was stupid enough to let myself want…” Once again he stopped in mid sentence, biting of the words with an anger that startled Joe. Then, abruptly, the anger seemed to flow away. “But I can’t,” Adam finished dully. “Don’s literally spent decades trying to get a Special Projects team approved. I can’t run out on him, not after everything he’s done for me. And even if I could—well, I’m *marked* now. I’m the new golden boy, the one everyone wants to meet. I can’t just give up all that to go to the States without some very important people asking some very pointed questions.” He looked down at his hands. “And you and I both know that questions are the last thing we can afford.”

“Oh,” Joe said. 

He swallowed hard, Adam’s words sinking in as emphatically as a coffin nail sinks into wood. Thus far they’d been very careful, and very, very lucky too. Nobody, apart from Don, suspected they were anything more than co-workers. The age difference between them actually worked in their favor there. Even if someone had suspected one or the other of them was gay, which, thanks to years of discretion on both their parts, absolutely no one did, they were an unlikely couple. So unlikely that it had never crossed anyone’s mind that Adam might have reasons for taking Joe as a roommate that went beyond doing a favor for Don and getting some help paying his rent at the same time. (Nobody thought it odd that Joe hadn’t moved into Don and Christine’s manor house instead; Christine’s dislike of Joe was fairly well known.) Joe suspected that if Adam ever did lose his mind and try to tell the world they were involved, the declaration would be met with huge gales of amused laughter. “You and Joe? Yeah, right…” 

But not being discovered was largely a matter of never giving anyone a reason to look, and Adam had a point. Giving up an opportunity like this was exactly the sort of thing that might cause one of Adam’s superiors to examine the kid more closely. And if they did, they might discover not just the true nature of Adam and Joe’s relationship, but Adam’s Immortality, as well. “Oh, *shit*, kid,” Joe said, sagging as the full implications of the situation began to hit him. “Shit. That means *I’m* marked, too. I can’t give up the bar to stay here with you, either. Not without the same questions being asked about me.”

“I know,” Adam said softly. “Not that I would ever have asked you to. Dreams like your bar only come true for people once in a hundred lifetimes, Joe. Believe me. You have to make the most of them, when they do.” He gave Joe a wan smile. “I guess that’s why I went so overboard, making plans for the remodel. I knew you had to go, and I knew I had to stay—but I didn’t want to admit it. I guess I thought that if I distracted myself enough making crazy plans for the present that the future wouldn’t be real. Or maybe I was just hoping that if I redid the apartment, really made a place for you here in stone and kitchen tile, that we’d both know you’d eventually be coming back. For weekends and holidays, if nothing else.” Adam gave Joe a gentle, apologetic smile, although his eyes remained sad, and his fingers skated gently over the part of the blueprints that depicted his plans for the master bath. “At the very least, I wanted to share a shower with you once before you left.”

The words caught Joe by surprise. If he was being honest about it, using Adam’s master bath was his least favorite part of living with the kid. Oh, the room was large enough. Almost as big as the bedroom, in fact. But the fixtures were a rag-tag collection of salvaged odds and ends, all clearly installed during the late sixties as some kind of ill-conceived modernizing afterthought--and that thought had obviously never included the possibility that a man with no legs might someday want to use them. The pedestal sink was at a perfect back-breaking height, too high to sit at, too low to reach standing without leaning over. And the shower wasn’t really a shower at all. It was just a tiny, old fashioned claw-footed tub with a curtain around it, water coming in through a rickety spout hanging from the ceiling. Since there was no way Joe could step in and out, he’d been forced to make-do with sponge baths ever since he’d moved in. 

Joe didn’t really mind the inconvenience. Years of traveling the world chasing after MacLeod had taught him lots of tricks for dealing with non-disability-friendly facilities, and he had his routine down pat. But. There had definitely been mornings when they’d been in there together, Adam showering while Joe tended his beard and snuck glances at the kid’s beautiful body through the curtain, when the urge to jump in and join him had been almost overwhelming. Joe knew from experience just how *good* Adam felt right after he bathed, his skin so soft and warm from the heat--Joe longed to know what he'd feel like while the water was still falling. But the idea that Adam might have wanted the same thing was a startling one. “Is that what made you suddenly decide that all bathrooms are evil, then?” he said, the light words doing nothing to hide the choke in his throat. “Adam, I…”

“They *are* evil,” Adam asserted heatedly, interrupting Joe before he could finish his sentence. “Think about it, Joe. Practically every other culture from the dawn of time on has ritualized its bathing practices, made them into a social event. I miss…I mean, I think they had the right idea. It’s not natural, shutting people up in these barren little closets away from the rest of the world, forcing them to care for their bodies entirely on their own. It can get so damn lonely, having to do everything for yourself…” Adam read the subtle frown crossing Joe’s face and slowed down, the slightest hint of embarrassment coloring his angular cheeks. “Not that I realized any of that until you moved in,” he admitted. “It wasn’t until the second morning you were here, when we were both dancing around each other like crazy people trying to use the mirror so we could both get out the door on time, that it hit me. It’s not the sex or the conversation or even listening to you play at night that’s the best part of having you here, Joe. The best part of having you here is just…having you here. Sharing my space, sharing my life.” Adam took a shaky breath. “You wouldn’t believe how many years it’s been since I last had that. You really, really wouldn’t.” 

“I don’t know,” Joe said thoughtfully. “Maybe I would.” Oh, he didn’t believe for one second that it had really been that long since someone had last shared Adam’s bath. The kid was simply too gorgeous to have spent the last seven years in total celibacy, and at least one or two of his other lovers must have stopped to use the shower or borrow his razor. But Joe knew what Adam was saying, just the same. Finding someone who made you happy while you were making love or going out on the town was one thing. Finding someone who made you happy while you were both late for work and crowding together trying to brush your teeth at the same tiny sink was another. And Adam did make Joe happy. God knew that those hurried mornings could get hectic, and neither of them was exactly at their most attractive while they flossed. But after so many years on his own it was nice, sharing those moments with another human being again. More than nice. It was the end of more than twenty years of loneliness. “I should have listened better when you started talking about your plans,” Joe said aloud. “I had no idea it meant so much to you.”

Adam gave him a brittle little smile. “How could you? I didn’t bother to say,” he replied. “Besides, you were perfectly right. It *is* ridiculous, spending so much money on remodeling when the future is so uncertain. And I can agree that you don’t really need a sub-zero fridge in the kitchen or a studio with a private entrance from the street. But damn it all, I really *wanted* to redo that bathroom.” Adam’s dark head sagged, his lean throat tightening with emotion. “Gut the horrible thing and rebuild it from scratch. And this time make it big enough for two…” 

“Yeah,” Joe answered. “Yeah, I kinda get that now.” He cocked his head curiously. “You really want to shower with me, Adam?”

Adam stared at him incredulously. “You have to ask?” he said. “No, don’t bother answering—of course you do. I never told you about that, either.” 

“Never told me what?”

“Ah.” To Joe’s surprise, Adam suddenly shoved his hands self-consciously into his robe pockets. “Never told you about my long-standing-Joe-in-the-shower fantasy.” He shrugged shyly, embarrassment plain. “I spent a rather embarrassingly large amount of time during the last seven years standing in that shower imagining you were in there with me.”

Christ. He did? “You did?”

Adam looked even more embarrassed, but he nodded gamely enough. “I did. It was easier to pretend that way, you see.”

“Pretend?”

“That you were really there,” Adam answered. “I thought about you in dozens of other places too, but in the shower…well. There I could tell myself that the reason I couldn’t hear you was because the water was drowning out your voice, and the reason I couldn’t see you was because you were behind me, just out of sight behind my back. All I had to do was imagine your hands, which believe me, wasn’t very hard at all. Sometimes the fantasy got so vivid it felt like I had my own personal ghost Joe jumping in to help me out. Kissing my back…soaping my skin…” Adam gave a rueful, humorless laugh. “I’m afraid your hands have been haunting me for years, Joe Dawson. I never quite forgot what it felt like to have you touch me.”

Joe groaned, low in his throat. He was remembering the countless numbers of lonely nights when he’d done a similar thing, lying awake in his bed in the dark while his hands traced Adam’s shape over and over in the air. The remembered feeling of the kid’s skin under his palms and the sharp, vivid scent of his arousal in his nose had been so real, once or twice Joe hadn’t even had to touch himself to make himself come. The memory alone had been erotic enough. “Yeah, well,” Joe said gruffly. “If it helps, you weren’t alone. I had a ghost Adam of my own during those years, kid. I never quite forgot how it felt to touch you, either.”

He stepped in closer, letting his hand fall to the belt of Adam’s robe. Both men shuddered when Joe’s fingers made contact with the cloth, but Joe didn’t undo the tie. He just stroked the fabric idly for a minute, thinking, imagining what it would be like to make love to Adam in a shower, how it would feel to caress his skin through a warm haze of steam and mist. But just as Joe became aware that his tongue had unconsciously licked out to touch his lips, and that Adam was eyeing him with an indescribably endearing combination of lust and self-consciousness and hope, reality came crashing in. "It's a lovely fantasy, kid," Joe said regretfully, tying Adam’s robe more firmly closed and resolutely stepping away. "One I wouldn't mind at all making real. But even if you put in a brand new shower, one without a tub on the bottom so I could actually walk inside, I still couldn't stand up in it beside you. My legs don't work so well on damp floors."

Adam looked at him, his face serious. Joe looked hard, but he couldn't see any trace of pity there. Just a wanting and a vulnerability, the likes of which Joe had seldom seen. "I always rather imagined that there would be a bench."

It should not have been the most erotic phrase Joe had ever heard, not by a long shot. Still. Said at that moment, with that expression in Adam's eyes, it hit Joe with all the force of the proverbial freight train. "Show me," he whispered. And Adam, bless him, responded instantly—gently urging Joe back until he was once again sitting in the kid’s oh-so-useful office chair, then rotating gracefully away until his back was to Joe’s front. The old waffle knit robe fell to the floor as Adam guided Joe’s fingers to his waist, showing him exactly how he’d dreamed of being touched; together, they caressed Adam’s hips and thighs for several pulse-pounding minutes before finally settling on his cock. Joe, his eyes almost perfectly level with the small of Adam’s back, pressed little kisses onto the top curves of Adam’s ass as he stroked him, unbearably aroused by the way the novel position made Adam’s cock curve up and away from his palm, aroused even more by the way he could feel Adam’s hamstrings tremble whenever he ran his thumb over the kid’s sensitive glans. Joe played with the kid for what seemed an endless time, loving him, learning from every gasp and tremor, until Adam’s ass suddenly clenched and he came, brokenly gasping Joe’s name. Then, almost before the last pulse of come had finished flowing over Joe’s fingers, Adam turned again and dropped to his knees between Joe’s legs. His eyes were dark as he pulled down Joe’s boxers and gracefully bent his head.

Joe closed his eyes and just let the sensations take him, the incredible sweetness of Adam’s somewhat hesitant, still-not-quite-expert cock sucking moves blending with the overwhelming knowledge that this really was *Adam* going down on him, not a ghost or phantom. When it was over Joe put his hands on Adam’s shoulders and urged him up for a passionate kiss, then let the kid slump down and rest his cheek on Joe’s thigh. They stayed like that, Joe idly stroking Adam’s hair while the young researcher sprawled bonelessly between his feet, until both of their breaths had slowed to normal speed. Then Joe spoke. "Adam."

"Yes, Joe?"

"This isn't going to end when I go back to Seacouver. We won't let it. We may have to live on different continents for a while, but we'll make it work somehow."

"Yes, Joe." 

"And as far as the new bathroom goes..."Joe took a deep breath. “You’re going to have to do some fast talking to convince me that we really need a steam room. But I’d be glad to cover half of the costs for a new shower, if you want to draw up the plans.”

He felt Adam’s slow, lazy smile spreading across his thigh. “Compromise, Joe?”

“It’s an art form, kid. Just one of the many we’re perfecting together.”

Adam’s arm slid around his waist, and they stood up together, walking into the bedroom side by side. They curled up on the bed, Adam’s long arm around Joe’s chest and the rest of his body comfortably pressed against Joe’s back. Just before he surrendered to sleep, Joe thought he heard Adam murmur “I love the man I am when I’m with you” into his ear, which Joe thought was odd; as far as he knew, Adam Pierson was one of the few people in life who was always exquisitely himself, even if there were some big details he had to keep hidden from the world at large. But he let the mystery go for another day, and slid peacefully into his dreams.

The End


End file.
